


It's a Wonderful Mycroft

by Anglofile



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Character death in a dream, Crack, M/M, References to classical literature and film
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-01-18
Updated: 2015-01-17
Packaged: 2018-03-08 00:58:23
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 901
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3189851
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Anglofile/pseuds/Anglofile
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A mistletoe kiss and a decision to flee from it brings strange events to Mycroft Holmes.</p><p>Winter Mystrade Exchange Fic for rykoe-little-black-book.</p>
            </blockquote>





	It's a Wonderful Mycroft

**Author's Note:**

  * For [rykoe-little-black-book](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=rykoe-little-black-book).



Mycroft Holmes did not like Christmas. The forced joy of the entire populace, the masses of people in every shop and café, and the sheer noise of the Christmas carols played on repeat for weeks on end were en par with the agony of a Holmes family Christmas.

 

He preferred a quiet, solitary Christmas. A roaring fire, blessed silence, and a little Dickens before bed was the entirety of Mycroft Holmes’ celebrations. There would be no turkey, no gauche paper crowns, not even a flaming pudding to round out the meal and as for the Queen’s Speech, when one had a hand in writing it and was there during its filming, he hardly felt the need to see it again.

 

Which was yet another reason to feel positively vexed at arriving at his brother’s residence just in time for the 221B Baker Street Christmas Party, the annual gathering of the Island of Misfit Toys that his brother surrounded himself with on a regular basis. Forced frivolity with  _people_ was and would never be high on his list of enjoyed activities.

 

There was nothing for it. The little favour Mycroft had requested of his brother recently was a sensitive matter and this  _darling_ little brother of his was demanding a proper audience to impart the results. Mycroft reminded himself that he must breathe deeply, make eye contact with no one, and certainly _not-_

“Mycroft?”

 

Damn it all to hell.

 

Mycroft turned and received confirmation that his name had fallen upon DI Gregory Lestrade’s lips. Gorgeous, kind, patient Gregory Lestrade. Very much heterosexual, not so much as a whiff of a rumour of bisexuality (no, not even during university, he checked), Gregory Lestrade. The man he'd been nursing an attraction towards for years now. Suddenly the weight he'd gained recently sat very ill upon his hips. 

 

He felt his lips curl up into his best insincere, noncommittal smile, born of years of practice.

 

“Detective Inspector, I did not think you would attend my brother’s party given what happened the last time you attended. You weren’t here last year.”

 

Lestrade gawked at him for a moment.

 

“Yeah well, no offence but I didn’t think he invited you at all mate,” Lestrade snapped.

 

They stared at each other, both shocked into silence. Mycroft felt the heat in his cheeks and knew he’d been blushing.

 

“Christ, sorry. It’s been a rough week. He did me a favour, actually,” Lestrade said, voice low and gravely, “I’d have been a fool about Caroline for God knows how much longer and now I’m embracing bachelorhood. It’s not too bad. Last year I volunteered to work. Divorces do not come cheap.”

 

“I should apologise as well,” Mycroft, focused on pouring his drink rather than let Greg see the pinkness of his cheeks full on, said quietly, “I did not intend to give voice to my observations. The week hasn’t been very kind to me either. And you’re correct, he doesn’t invite me. I’m here on business.”

 

They both began to turn to go through the doorway from the kitchen to the front room at the same time and were forced to stop. Lestrade smiled at him and gestured for Mycroft to go through first, which Mycroft began to do. When he didn’t hear Lestrade following, Mycroft stopped and turned back to see what was keeping the man.

 

Lestrade was looking up at something.

 

Mycroft slowly followed the man’s gaze and saw a bundle of what could only be mistletoe tied above the doorway. The doorway they were both under once again.

 

Bloody hell.

 

“…I’m hardly going to hold you to a kiss under the mistletoe, Detective Inspector,” Mycroft calmly said, “Now let’s go before anyone notices-”

 

“Oh mistletoe! Aren’t you going to?”

 

Ah yes, Molly Hooper. Still in love with his brother (but determined not to be), still sure his brother will change his ways for anyone other than John Watson. Perhaps she was not entirely wrong. Single, with plans to adopt another cat under the rationale that her current one was lonely. This day was getting better the longer it wore on.

 

Mycroft sighed. Very well then.

 

He began to quickly lean in, determined to do nothing more than kiss Gregory Lestrade on the cheek, just as Lestrade turned his face in the same direction. Mycroft’s lips softly landed on those of the other man. In half a heartbeat, Greg’s lips parted suddenly and Mycroft instinctually deepened the kiss, hands reaching up to find the other man’s hair, before Mycroft’s senses prevailed and horrified, he tore his lips away and backed up as quick as he could.

 

Lestrade looked stunned. The man’s lovely silver hair was mussed, his lips a deeper pink than normal, and the beautiful chocolate coloured eyes that Mycroft particularly enjoyed imagining when he had an idle moment were as round as saucers.

 

“I apologise, I didn’t mean…!” Mycroft fought to gain control again and lowered his voice. “I apologise for surprising you. Please tell my brother to call me when he’s done with the party as I was called away suddenly. And if it helps, Molly Hooper would be lucky to have your attentions under the mistletoe if only you wait a moment.”

 

Heart pounding but head high, Mycroft departed as if the flames of hell were licking at his heels. He despised Christmas, mistletoe, and his brother for orchestrating this little humiliation.

 

Bah humbug.


End file.
